


Mint Tea & Buttered Croissants

by MinawaKitten



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, in theory, no beta i die like a dumbass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24041923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinawaKitten/pseuds/MinawaKitten
Summary: Sanson Smyth is determined to save the Carline Canopy, even if hiring Guydelot Thildonnet to help is his own undoing.--behold, bad ideas in motion, a coffee shop au for Sanson/Guydelotif there isnt enough content we gotta make it somehow
Relationships: Sanson/Guydelot Thildonnet
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	1. { 01 }

The moment the trash is into the dumpster and he peels the gloves away, tossing them into the trash as well,  Sanson hasily rubs at his eyes while he struggles to stifle the noise he’s making. His entire being feels like it’s spiraling in a whirlwind of emotions, he’s exhausted, annoyed and so utterly miserable with how his attempts to save the cafe have utterly flopped.

He’s sacrificed a portion of his pay -- all in the genuine belief that the entertainment he hired would be able to give back to the cafe -- and he’s barely able to afford rent this month because of it. He tries to ignore the sting of his eyes once more and weakly slams his fist against the brick wall.

It’s  _ his  _ fault! 

Guydelot Thildonnets is a self centered bastard that has shown he has absolutely no intention to even help the cafe! Oh, his music is wonderful -- enchanting even! -- and it brings in so many customers but not a single one of them bother to order anything and he does nothing to encourage them! All they care about is him and all he cares about is the attention he gets in return!

This cafe could close down for good and he doesn’t give a shit. He’s so utterly self-centered! Can't he tell a damn thing?! About how much this place means to people? It may be old but . . . but dammit! It’s important to so many people! It’s the place so many met their loved ones. A place people could go to feel safe. A place that felt like  _ home _ !

It can't simply disappear from the world!

Sanson put  _ everything _ he has into keeping this place running. He wakes long before the crack of dawn, putting every ounce of love and hard work he has into baking fresh sweets, preparing the most perfect salads and sandwiches and brewing fresh coffees and teas. . . And it keeps going to waste as less and less people come around and. . . 

“. . .Sanson?”

Sanson jumps to his feet, his brain screaming as he tries to pull himself together but the shame of being caught crying in an alleyway by the dumpster brings only more tears to his eyes. He hastily tries to clean his face, refusing to turn around so Guydelot could see and mock him for this.  


* * *

  
Sanson Smyth is, by far, the most annoying person Guydelot has ever had the displeasure of working with. 

He thought he landed a good job when he went in for the interview. The cute little cafe needed an entertainer and who was he to deny the people that ? Plus the pay was good and the young man who was interviewing him looked rather cute to boot. 

Really, the utterly enraptured expression on his pretty face and his sparkling eyes was quite a sight, it’s such a shame it’s marred by all that anger he has. Every time he sees him at the cafe and, well, if looks could kill, Guydelot would have died several hundred times over already. Despite hiring him, and looking so enchanted by his music, he has shown nothing but hatred and annoyance.

Perhaps it’s his stiff and sour attitude that’s running so many people off from the cafe. He’s too busy trying to be Employee of the Month that he can't see he’s causing so many goddamn problems. What an annoying self-righteous shite. 

Maybe that’s why he’s fucked off for so long while taking the trash out. He can't even leave until Sanson is done -- since the stiff decided he can’t even help clean the damn kitchen -- so he intends to basically hold him hostage until he finishes cleaning up the place. Minutes seem to drag on and on and Guydelot lets out a dramatic sigh, throwing his head back before marches over to the door that leads to the alleyway behind the cafe.

At first, he sees no one and is immediately pissed off by this, he’s about to reenter the building until he hears what sounds like a quiet sob. He is then. . . confused. . . Was that. . . Sanson? Was the smug, self-righteous and confident bastard actually. . . .crying?

What the hell.

Guydelot knocks the kickstopper into position and slowly -- awkwardly -- enters the alleyway. He can't really see much and the dim light really isnt helping. . . but he needs to at least check. Even if the two of them hated each other, it would be rather cruel to leave the other when they're in such a vulnerable state. 

“. . . Sanson?” Immediately, Sanson appears from the darkness like he was loaded on a spring. However, he doesnt turn around, look his way or even bother to respond. Guydelot furrows his brows and purses his lips. On instinct, he wants to snap at the other but if Sanson was crying, it makes perfect sense the other didn't want to show him.

It’s annoying. He isnt some asshole that’s going to mock him over having goddamn feelings like any other person. He opens his mouth to call out to him once more but Sanson instead lets out a shuddering sob, his nails digging into his elbows as he hugs himself tightly.

Okay so, he didn't hallucinate the crying at all.

“A-Aren't you supposed to be inside?” Sanson manages to spit out. Guydelot has to do everything in his power to not lose it right there. He’s obviously trying to get him to leave so he can be alone, but he just. . . He just can't leave him right now.

“You’ve been out here for nearly fifteen minutes.” Guydelot gently informs him, inching closer to the smaller male. Sanson doesn't seem to hear him and Guydelot isn’t sure if he should repeat himself until he gets a meek apology several moments later.

“It’s fine. . .” Guydelot uncertainty answers. Gods. He had no idea what’s the next step here.

“Then you should head back inside. I’ll be there in a moment.” It’s supposed to be a command but it’s so weak and defeated. And, quite frankly, it makes Guydelot uncomfortable. Samson’s attitude was annoying but seeing the poor bastard so defeated and weak is the most uncomfortable thing he’s ever experienced.

“Sanson. . . Do you want to. . . I don’t know, talk about it?” He could have been so much more tactful about the phrasing but given the nature of their relationship he’s not even sure if offering it would be the right thing. . . and given how Sanson just flinched at the suggestion he can only assume it’s not.

“Guydelot go inside.” It’s a bit firmer than last time but also accompanied with a single quiet plea. So hushed he wasn’t sure it was real. Guydelot quite honestly struggles how to articulate he has absolutely zero intention to abandon the other, despite his pleads, when he suddenly notices how Sanson has begun to sway with unsteady footing. He swiftly approaches the other, briefly uncertain where to place his hands on the other before settling on his backside.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Not the best choice of words. Didn’t help that Sanson flinched at his touch and did everything he could to not look him in the eye. “You  _ did  _ skip lunch earlier, didn't you?” He wasn’t sure at first but the fact he’s swaying and so damn out of it he’s certain now.

“It doesn't matter.” Sanson simply states. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Starving yourself isn’t perfectly fine!” Guydelot exclaims, almost enraged the other would think this is fine. How could he think something so stupid? Furious, Guydelot grabs Sanson by his shoulders and reeled him around and. . . it’s the first time Guydelot has actually  _ looked  _ at Sanson in so long and -- too be quite frank -- he looks like shite. There’s a look of absolute terror on his face, not to mention bags under his eyes -- perhaps he used makeup to cover it up? -- and those pretty eyes. . . they look so distant and hazy.

How long? How long has Sanson been doing this to himself? 

The answer seems to be ‘too long’ as Sanson suddenly stumbles over his own feet, ultimately forcing him to lean against the other for support. Guydelot grits his teeth and decides it's time for him to act before anything worse happens. He lifts Sanson into his arms, despite his utterly weak protests, slides an arm under Sanson’s knees and swiftly carries him back into the cafe.


	2. { 02 }

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lets talk about my headcanons about how sanson doesnt give a SHIT about his own safety or wellbeing

Sanson wakes up what feels like an eternity later. . . and he’s pretty damn sure this isn't his room. Actually, he’s incredibly sure it isn't because he wouldn't leave his room in a messy state nor does he own any sort of musical equipment or a musical sheets. It’s not until he spots a familiar guitar case sitting in a chair does it all come together.

This is Guydelot’s room.

His face immediately flushes red and he struggles to get out of the bed, only to get himself tangled in the sheets. This ultimately leads to him tripping and falling flat on his face. Loud footsteps follow and Guydelot bursts into the room to see him in the most ungraceful pose possible, his butt in the air and the single shirt he’s wearing -- which Guydelot dressed him in while he was unconscious -- bunch around his torso giving him a view of a little too much.

“Jesus Chrsit.” Guydelot wheezes, his face glowing a bright red color. He’s admitted in the past Sanson was a real pretty thing but, this really isnt how he wanted to see these parts of him. Really, having the poor bastard collapsing on him and having to carry him back to his place was the last thing he wanted.

He didn't even have time to clean. . .

Guydelot blinks as he’s pulled from his thoughts as he realizes Sanson is trying to push past him, his face flushed red and rambling about how he needs to get to the cafe. Sighing, he places his hands on Sanson’s shoulders and stears him back to the bed.

“Don't even think about it, Miounne said she’s got it all under control for today.” The look on Sanson’s face was not the one he was expecting -- perhaps annoyance and frustration -- instead he’s given a fear stricken look. Once more Sanson begins rambling incoherently about how he needs to get to work and prepare for the day or how he’s not ill or anything so there’s no reason for him to not go in. Again Guydelot puts his hands on Sanson’s shoulders and more or less fights to get the absolute goddamn idiot in the bed. 

“For Twelves Sake!” He growls once he’s hit in the nose amongst the struggle. “Don't you see your worrying people?! People care for you, you idiot, but you’re too ready to throw your health out the window! Why don’t you think about your needs for once in your life!?”

Those words send Sanson into a state of shocked silence, an expression of surprise and confusion on his face but at least he wasn't moving around anymore. Guydelot simply pulls the sheets up higher, remarking he will be right back before sliding out of the room. As he makes his way to the small kitchen, he lets out a sigh and brushes his bangs back in exhaustion.

Despite all the insanity of the situation, at least their employer was understanding why things were a mess when she came in this morning. . . Apparently even she voiced concerns about Sanson overworking himself, but he assured her each time, saying he was perfectly fine and ready to help. Honestly, Guydelot was completely taken aback when he learned Sanson came in at four am, every day no less, to help prepare the cafe and prep the ovens for that day’s workload.

Guydelot sighs to himself, turning the flame on the stovetop off and pours a ladle full of soup into the nearby bowl waiting on the counter. 

It seems almost tragic that only after Sanson collapsing did it become apparent that Sanson’s hard work was fueled by his  _ love _ for the cafe, not a desire to come out on the top as Employee of the Month. . . and it honestly makes him feel like an ass to even make that assumption about the other despite how poorly they got along.

Returning to his room he finds Sanson still sitting on the bed, that look still plastered on his face. Okay. That’s. . . a bit concerning. He clears his throat, informing Sanson he’s returned, only for the shorter male to squeak in surprise, his cheeks flushed red.

What the fuck.

Why is he so cute? Why is he showing him all this cute shit  _ now _ ?

This is incredibly unfair!

“Anyway,” Guydelot exclaims, swiftly interrupting himself from gushing and embarrassing himself further. He places the tray with the bowl of soup onto Sanson’s lap. Sanson is genuinely taken aback by the food placed before him but thanks the other no less. Now, he’s not expecting any huge reaction from the other but he can't help but feel disappointed with how Sanson takes one spoonful and puts his spoon down.

“Yeah, I figured it wasn't up to your usual standards.” Guydelot mutters, rolling his eyes as he crosses his arms. Sanson immediately feels guilty for his reaction and his expression shows that much, making guilt stab Guydelot in return. Perhaps Sanson was still tired and to be fair to him, he thoughtlessly shoved food before him without even asking if he felt well enough to eat.

“I-It’s not that. . . It’s good, although lacking a bit of seasoning but I. . . I just can't understand why.” He softly admits, startling Guydelot as tears began to roll down his cheeks and drip into his soup. “I’ve been a terrible coworker to you, s-so how can you. . . how can you even show the smallest bit of kindness to me? How can you do  _ any  _ of this for me?”

And all at once, so many things click into place. He loved the cafe more than anything and that was why he was working so hard and barking orders at him, he was trying to do everything he could to help it with his ideas of how to improve the place. Sanson’s distance from other people had nothing to do with what was initially perceived as superiority and a desire to control, but fear and uncertainty. 

Worse of all, he can't help but question if no one ever gave Sanson any sort of basic kindness and interactions beyond expecting a good job from him? How alone has he been all this time? How could he not notice the suffering the other’s endured this entire time?

With a sigh, he carefully removes the tray from Sanson’s lap, quickly shushing him the moment he says he’s still eating, to set it aside for a moment. A bit awkwardly, Guydelot sits on the edge of his own bed, looking at his folded hands between his legs as he attempts to organize his thoughts. Sanson, on the other hand, looks a bit frazzled and uncertain which clutches his chest in a vise. To see him so small and uncertain is just. . . it’s too sad.

“Sanson, I’m sorry.” He finally begins. Sanson gives him a look of confusion. 

“W-What are you apologizing for? I’m the one inconveniencing you, aren't I?” Guydelot snorts, pressing his forehead against his closed fists.

“I’m not talking about  _ this _ , I’m talking about everything. This entire time I thought you were too busy being so far up your ass and acting like you're the boss that I never once bothered to  _ try  _ and understand you.”

“T-That’s not. . .” Sanson sputters, rather surprised that’s what the other took away from his hardwork and dedication.

“It’s not the truth.” Guydelot simply cuts in. “As soon as I called Miounne to explain what happened she told me about how hard you work and how much the cafe meant to people -- what it meant to  _ you _ . She said there’s more to what’s going on. . . but I should ask you. So, Sanson, what’s going on here? Why would you starve yourself for the cafe? Shouldn't you, of all people, know taking care of yourself is important?”

“It’s. . . It’s not like I’m important.” Sanson mumbles, looking so small and meek as he is unable to look in Guydelot’s direction. Guydelot, on the other hand, snaps his head in the direction of the other male, nothing but shock and perhaps horror on his face.

He thought Sanson was reckless in his pursuit to help the cafe but this is completely different -- this was outright self destruction. . . and how could he even think that? Someone who dedicated so much time to helping a place that meant so much to so many people was  _ not  _ someone unimportant. 

“I’m just one employee among many,” Sanson continues, unaware of what’s flything through Guydelot’s head at the moment. “one that’s apparently seen a bastard that’s so full of himself.” Guydelot winces. He never used that word but seeing how Sanson was so willing to destroy himself, it makes sense he would see himself so lowly. Sanson lets out a mirthless laugh as tears bubble up from his eyes once again. “And it’s not like I’ve made a major difference anyway! It was my idea to hire entertainment to help bring in more people, and sure people come to see you but they never give back to the cafe in any way! A-And now, I can hardly afford to live!” 

Now that strikes Guydelot as strange. His pay might be a little more as an entertainer but there’s no possible way that Sanson should be having money troubles to the point that he’s struggling to survive. The numbers simply don't add up.

“Sanson. . . what are you talking about?” Sanson looks at him oddly in return.

“Havent you realized. . . ? We didn't have the money to hire you so I took a pay cut.”

And like that guilt hits Guydelot harder than before. 

He isn't oblivious. He’s noticed how employees have quit -- mostly complained about it was a shit place to work and he attributed it to Sanson this entire time -- and how the cafe is nowhere near as busy as others in the area but he never once imagined it was  _ that close  _ to dipping into the red. Christ. Sanson was sacrificing so much for his sake and to think, if he didn't bother to go outside, he probably would have walked out for the night, let him sleep in an alleyway for the night and continued to hate the guy; All while failing to realize he’s just as human and troubled as anyone else.

“I should. . .I should apologize too. . .” 

W H A T

Guydelot just stares at Sanson. Stares with complete and absolute confusion. Why the  _ fuck _ does he feel obligated to do just that?

“Don’t look at me like that!” Samson exclaims, quite flustered by the reaction he was getting. Honestly, it’s not that strange to apologise, especially when this is a two way road. “You may have been hostile but so was I! My behavior did nothing to improve the work environment that must have been stressful on you! And I realized that you’re a caring person, after all you’ve done so much for a burden like me. . .!”

“Stop that. Stop calling yourself a burden on me. You’re here because I wanted to help you. Even if we didn’t agree or didn’t air things out, I’m not cruel enough to leave someone in need behind.”

“I see. . . You really are kinder than I thought Guydelot. Really, you’re incredible . . .” Sanson whispers the last part to himself as his eyes wistfully lock into Guydelot’s guitar.

“And what? You aren’t?” Sanson sputters in surprise, his pretty cheeks flushing red. Guydelot smirks.  “Not many people would put forth the amount of dedication you do nor willing to make the sacrifices you have. You may be a bit thick,” Much to Samson’s surprise there’s a bit of a playful tone as he gently pokes his forehead. “But you have a good heart. There’s not enough people like that in the world.” Sanson is taken by surprise once more when Guydelot suddenly hugs him, making a small plea for him to take care of himself for that exact reason. Slowly and hesitantly, Sanson returns the gesture with a quiet promise to put more effort into caring for himself.


	3. { 03 }

Miounne is quick to note a change between her two star employees. Although it wasn’t very hard for her to notice it when she arrived to find Guydelot waiting with Sanson at the cafe’s storefront at four in the morning. 

Sanson, being a worrier and a hard worker he is, always came in early and proceeded to criticize himself as he perfected each pastry and sandwich he made. It’s not to say she was annoyed by his enthusiasm and efforts but really, the poor boy was too harsh on himself! To the point all he ever did was work and she worried he would never connect with his fellow employees.

It’s tragic to say that it takes him collapsing for a change to happen but better late than never.

“Good morning Mother Miounne.” Sanson greets with his usual smile. Guydelot gives her a wave while yawning into his shoulder. When Sanson turns to Guydelot she half expects him to chastise him but he instead beams and _teases_ him.

“Oh come off it,” Guydelot sighs. “No one gets up at four am and is full of life like you. Honestly, I’m amazed you didn’t collapse sooner with such an intense schedule.”

“My schedule is not that intense!” He argues with a huff. 

“Actually, I think it’s quite insane as well.” Miounne informs him with a smile on her lips. Sanson gawks with utter surprise, which in turn makes her smile softly with motherly affection. “Hmm? What’s with that face?” Gently, she tilts his head up and looks him right in his eyes. “Do not misunderstand me Sanson, I genuinely do appreciate everything you’ve done for the Canopy. However, I’ve watched you grow up with this cafe serving as a second home to you, and I never really knew how to approach the subject of how you treat yourself. 

“After all, you’re not my child, but after the scare you gave us, I realized I should have done something more than asking if you were okay. Your health is just as important as anyone else’s and I would never want anything to happen to you, not because I rely on you to help run this place but because _I care for you_.”

“I-I’m sorry. I did not intend to worry you, or anyone really. Honestly, I don't want to burden anyone. . .” Miounne sighs but she gently pats the young man on his head before withdrawing her hand and unlocking the door.

“You have never been a burden Sanson.” The lights flicker on and the Carline Canopy glittered like a beacon of light in the darkness. Or perhaps, the light is shining brighter than before, filling Sanson with security he’s never known until that moment -- until he realized he was loved and cared for.

* * *

From that moment on, the air around the Carline Canopy changed for good. 

Guydelot talked over his contract with Miounne, requesting to be paid as much as Sanson previously was -- something she was more than glad to agree to the moment she learned how badly the young man was struggling with his bills.

Additionally, with Guydelot coming in as early as well, the preparation workload was cut down so Miounne allowed the boys to come in a bit later, giving them some extra time to sleep. This led to Guydelot hanging around outside Sanson’s apartment with a cup of coffee every morning and a smile on his face. 

With his workload cut, Sanson looked far less exhausted when people came in and more willing to speak to him. People, thankfully, soon came to realize Sanson was a rather polite and kind person and not an employee that was out to bite their heads off.

This was also thanks to Guydelot using his instagram fame to help -- a few photos and a few videos here and there of him and Sanson doing some prepwork in the kitchen and people found themselves charmed by shy and flustered aspects of Sanson’s personality. Images of a guy previously known as the stiff, laughing and blushing as he throws a handful of flour at Guydelot has its charms for sure.

Guydelot even used his Instagram to showcase specialties and deals -- this week’s promo featured Sanson smiling awkwardly as he displayed a strawberry shortcake -- although it was unfortunate that some tool named Nourval seemed to be hitting on Sansom in every post that featured him.

And, rather suddenly, Guydelot’s brain sputters. He rolls onto his side, his face a bright red color, and his brain struggling to understand everything and anything all at once.

What the hell.

Why is it unfortunate for someone to hit on Sanson? Sure, Sanson is cute. He knows that. He knows a cute boy when he sees him. But why did he tell that Nourval guy to fuck off the moment he started hitting on Sanson?! They aren't together so there was no reason for him to even react that way!

Hell, he isn't dating anyone so why. . . why does he suddenly. . . uncomfortable with his contest idea? It’s just a date. A dinner with whoever wins a fucking raffle. . . So why does he want to share the dinner with Sanson instead? God. Sanson wouldn't even realize how much of a date it was, wouldn’t he? 

He’d be oblivious of the atmosphere but happily talk away with him with that dumb smile on his face. And you know what? He’d be fine with that. He would be glad to share time with Sanson. At the mere thought of such an evening a smile spreads across Guydelot’s face.

Wait.

Shit. Shit. _Shit._

And there’s the snag -- he’s fallen for Sanson Smyth. 

And yet, this is the worst possible outcome. How can he even be accepted by the other after everything he put him through before. Really, who would want to date someone that once treated them like shit? Would Sanson even say yes because he actually liked him. . . or because he didn't want to _lose_ him as a friend? That aside, he isn't even sure if Sanson is into guys, much less how he would react to a confession from one.

“Shit.” Guydelot whispers, tears suddenly bubbling behind his eyes as he felt himself overwhelmed by every cruel fantastical possibility to come from a possible confession. 

* * *

Despite his own fears and concerns Guydelot does everything he can to maintain the friendship he recently forged with Sanson but that was quickly becoming complicated as every smile and every moment he saw the other man’s eyes light up, the more he fell for him. 

It’s so unfair. Once upon a time he could charm anyone with such ease it was a joke but the moment Sanson appears his tongue feels heavy and he starts to fumble with his words. He hates this. He hates this utter hopelessness and the way his day seems brighter the other is there.

“You looked like you needed it.” Sanson smiles, placing the cup of coffee before Guydelot. The young man in question returns to reality, somewhat baffled by the gesture but a smile graces his lips as he takes the mug by the handle.

“How sweet of you to care for a guy like me Sanson.” Sanson blushes in return and oh Dear Gods Above, it’s an absolutely wonderful sight.

“Of course, you’re my companion!” Guydelot has to resist the urge to take a spit take out of pure surprise. Of all titles to associate with him, he really wasn’t expecting something so. . . intimate. Sanson, thankfully, seems not to notice this. “I want you to succeed in your own endeavors as well! I’m sure whatever your raffle prize is, the customers will really like it!”

“Well, I do hope you’re around for its reveal.” Guydelot hums, trying to maintain his usual cool. “I’m sure it will even amaze you!” Sanson beams with delight.

No but he’s going to fucking die because what if Sanson -- just, perhaps -- likes him and is tottally and utterly crushed by him publicly asking someone _else_ out? He hates the thought but he has no other idea of what to offer as a prize for his stupid goddamn raffle. 

Quite frankly, a personalized song is _immediately_ out the window given the fact it would lack an obvious amount of passion and feelings behind it. ‘Why’ you ask? Sanson. Every time he thinks of any possible song or any ideas, it all returns to him. His fantasies are filled with songs to softly serenade the young man, sweep him off his feet and gently kiss him under the moonlight.

Baking seemed like a pretty terrible idea. He can do basic dishes and Sanson has taught him how to make the cafe’s pastries but he’s nowhere near as good as Sanson and it would be a rather lackluster prize to offer anyone given his messy pastries are already on sale -- although Sanson has told him time and time again that as long as they’re made with love it will be just fine.

Despite wanting to keep everything in, it was every aspect of himself is conspiring against him. Being near Sanson made that damn near impossible but he doesn't have it in him to simply run away. Like it or not, he’s simply bound to the other man.

* * *

And so, that evening, Guydelot does his usual performance, singing softly to his audience and gently strumming his guitar. More than once his eyes darted to Sanson at the counter, his head resting in the palm of his hand as he gazed . . . almost longingly at him. Well, perhaps the music. If only Sanson focused on him with such a gaze, he’d be a happy man.

Nevertheless, the performance ends and Guydelot bows to the cheering crowd. He takes a moment to pack his guitar away while Miounne comes up on stage with a glass jar containing multiple yellow ticket stubs. People excitedly begin to pull out their tickets as the prize is finally revealed -- a date with Guydelot. Girls scream with glee and quite a few young men among the crowd looked excited as well. 

Guydelot takes a moment to calm himself before rising to his feet with his guitar strapped to his back and gives the crowd a smile. Again, the girls squeal and cheer, so utterly elated to have such a chance with the musician. It takes Guydelot everything he has to not look over at Sanson -- he couldn't bear seeing the other so hurt or, perhaps, disgusted -- and, rather abruptly, jams his hand into the jar. 

The motion catches Miounne off guard. She raises a brow but Guydelot says nothing. He awkwardly shuffles the tickets around for a few moments before pulling one out. Calming himself, he reads the numbers outloud.; “000001”.

People look to their tickets, whispering among themselves as they try to confirm if they or their friends are the winner. Disappointed faces filled the crowd one by one, to the point that Guydelot began to wonder if the person who had the ticket was even there or not.

Until a single hand rises from the crowd, a yellow ticket in hand and a familiar voice trembles as they announce they’ve won. Guydelot is almost certain this has to be a joke until the crowd parts to reveal that the lucky winner was genuinely Sanson Smyth -- his cheeks flushed red as he lowers his hand, unable to look him in the eye.

“I-I won. . .” He mumbles once more, growing a darker shade of red.

Ah.

Guydelot has most certainly died, hasn’t he?


	4. { 04 }

“I’ve never been on a date before.” Sanson quietly confesses once the door to the employees only area closes behind the two of them. Guydelot quickly looks to Sanson, somewhat surprised by this. . . but given who he is, it really shouldn't be a surprise. 

“I-Is that so. . .?” He awkwardly laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. Still blushing bright red, and nervously playing with his fingers, Sanson nods his head.

“I hope it doesn’t upset you. . . b-because I would very much like to spend the evening with you. So. . . please take care of me.” Gods. The red was to the tips of Sanson’s ears and if he got any redder he would probably explode from the heat he was giving off. As cute as it was, Guydelot nervously swallows and nods his head.

“Y-Yeah.” The simple confirmation was enough to make a smile cross Sanson’s flushed face.

He will literally _die_ trying to give Sanson the best possible date.

* * *

He has absolutely no goddamn idea what he’s doing for the date. 

It’s certainly not because he’s never had a date, he has gone on plenty of dates before with all kinds of people, but going on a date with someone he actually likes? Fuck That Shit. This is an entirely new ballfield so how the hell is he supposed to impress Sanson?

It doesn't help that he . . . he doesn't really know Sanson on a personal level. He knows, despite the rough and awkward exterior, Sanson is a really kind and genuine person, he’s honest and hard working. . . but his favorite things? His favorite food? No idea.

Well, he has noticed Sanson reading some sort of historical novel while on break. . . maybe a visit to the museum would be good, then a picnic at the botanical garden? Okay. That’s a basic outline but what does he make for lunch? Oh Sweet Jesus. He needs help.

* * *

Thankfully the gods sent help in the form of an angel known as Mother Miounne. With her wisdom and advice Guydelot was able to assemble a lunch for today’s date. It wasn’t perfect but, by the Twelve, it would knock Sanson off his feet.

. . . At least he hoped it would.

He quickly slaps his cheeks, shaking his fears and anxieties away. Everything will work out fine. 

And so, with renewed pride, Guydelot packs away the lunch he prepared in a nice insulated bag to keep it nice and cool throughout the day. After hours of planning he’s put together the perfect outfit -- a handsome turquoise green Summer Indigo shirt, a pair of black slacks and his favorite black Rebel Boots. 

He is going to fcking woo Sanson off his goddamn feet! 

* * *

When Sanson receives the text telling him where to meet Guydelot tomorrow for their date, he begins to fret. Well, more so than before. 

Ever since he confessed that he enjoyed the thought of a date with the other he felt like a fool. Part of him was scared this was really some elaborate prank but logic would always point out that Guydelot, despite wooing men and women left and right, was _always_ genuine in responding to their feelings/confessions or when offering relationship advice.

Which means Guydelot is taking this seriously, which is just as scary. What if he screws this up? What if he annoys Guydelot so much he makes him regret the date? Does he expect. . . a k-kiss or something more? Gods. The mere thought of kissing the other man sets his cheeks aflame.

“Ah. So this is what it’s like to die . . ” Sanson mourns out loud as he flops face down on his bed. However the moment his cellphone dings, alerting him of a new text, he fumbles for it and nearly falls off his bed in the process. On the floor, shamed and humiliated by his own actions, he slowly reaches up to grab his phone off the nightstand. 

It’s a simple text informing him to meet him at the museum at 10 AM tomorrow. 

**PING!**

Oh. Another text. . . 

be sure to look cute sanson 

(・ωｰ)～☆’

_IS HE FLIRTING WITH HIM?!  
  
_

Sanson is sure he’s going to die. That thought followed him from sleep, to waking up and getting dressed, to the point he’s standing outside the museum -- dressed in a cozy coeurl yellow Whisperfine Wool Coat, black slacks and his favorite Adepth Thigh Boots -- staring at his feet the entire time.

“Oi, Sanson!” The poor young man screams internally. Guydelot is here. HE’S HERE. Flustered, Sanson lifts his head and oh god he’s going to die. Guydelot was handsome, he always was, but for some god forsaken reason he’s chosen to unbutton his shirt by one button, revealing a little. . .too much of his pectorals.

Although in reality, it was not that much. It was more like a peek of his chest and to see Sanson so flustered, trying to cover his eyes while giving him a greeting filled with sutters it takes everything in Guydelot’s power to not kneel over and clutch his chest -- not only would that be embarrassing, which would get Sanson even more flustered, but it would rustle the lunch in the insulated bag. 

“You can stare.”  
  


WHAT THE FUCK

WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF RESPONSE IS THAT!?  
  


Sanson makes a wheezing sound, his cheeks flushed a brighter red hue than before, while he struggles to just. . . exist in that moment. 

Still, this at least brings some amount of comfort to Guydelot. He’s not the only one nervous about this but if this date is going to be a success, he should calm down Sanson first. 

“Don't worry,” Guydelot says with a charming smile, gently patting the other male on the shoulder. “Your embarrassed expression is. . . kinda cute. . .” Ant courage he had to the beginning quickly withered away as he finished his statement.

Although flustered, Sanson gave him an odd look.

“I am a man.” Guydelot raises a brow. Of course he has that mindset. Well, he can’t exactly fault him for that. Most people don't think much about gender and how negative stereotypes can affect people and Sanson seems like someone who unfortunately did not receive compliments beyond his work ethic. It’s a shame.

“You don't have to be a woman to be cute Sanson.” Guydelot sighs, shaking his head. “You can call a cat cute and no one would wonder if it’s a boy or girl cat, right?” Sanson owlishly blinks before taking a moment to think over the information presented to him. . . as strange as it sounds, it's very true. He’s fed many stray cats before and he never once thought about who he called cute as he stroked their fur and cooed at them.

“Yes. Cats are very cute.” He simply responds. Guydelot blankly stares in return. The complete and utter seriousness as he delivered that line was unbelievable. Also was that all he took from that conversation? He can't tell if he’s being oblivious or avoiding the fact he called him cute. At least until Sanson began blushing once more with a shy smile on his face. “. . . but, for you to call me cute. . . it makes me happy. . .”

Jesus Christ. To think he hated this guy so much before. . . but now. . . Guydelot is nothing short of being happy. Even if this was an opportunity born from a really shitty contest prize, he wants to make the best of it. Neither of them may be perfect to the world, but to him, Sanson is just that. 

He’s someone who can challenge him but still be there to support him. He’s kind and thoughtful, even if he overworks himself. He may have moments of doubt and worry, but he’ll happily be there to support him. He doubts he’ll be able to confess these feelings today, for now, he will enjoy what he was given. . . 

* * *

* * *

_. . . but. . . perhaps someday, he will reveal the secrets within his heart to the other. . ._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, looks at camera: ok so i never planned anything this far out and i completely blanked and left it on a hopeful note and the very CLEAR implication they got together in the end. . . jsut not immediately


End file.
